Chapter 103
Chapter: 103
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>Translator: penny
>Chapter: 103
>Chapter Title: Ortona Civil War (2)
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Since that day, Gael often saw Kike hanging around with his new mercenary friend.
The mercenary was a boy called Bart, who had recently joined the Astros Mercenary Corps as a guest member. He was the same boy with the extraordinary talent that Gael had noticed before.
Kike followed the mercenary around all day like a chick chasing after its mother hen.
It was only natural, perhaps.
There were no other children Kike's age at the republican camp, and his father, Prince Benicio, was either holed up in strategy meetings or clutching a bottle of liquor.
The problem was that this young friend Kike had finally found acted more mature than the adult mercenaries.
"If things don't go as planned, it's no good letting that frustration lead to self-destructive behavior."
"You know, bro, you say some really tough stuff sometimes. I don't get what you're trying to say."
"...What I'm saying is, if your weapon gets caught in its ring, don't just fling it at your feet or you'll get hurt."
The boy sighed as he gently scolded Kike, who was sitting on the ground.
Wondering what had happened, Gael approached and saw that the child's shin was deeply gashed and bleeding. It looked like something had scraped hard across it.
Kike explained sheepishly that his dagger's ring had gotten stuck in its sheath and wouldn't come out, so in a fit of anger, he'd thrown it down, and it had bounced up and hit his shin.
"Lord Kike, for now, let's head back to the prince's tent for treatment..."
As he said this, an unbelievable sight unfolded before Gael's eyes. Bart's hand hovered over the child's wound, and soon a sacred white light bloomed over it.
Kike's shin healed in an instant.
'...Holy power?'
Wasn't this boy supposed to be a swordsman?
Unlike the stunned Gael, Kike got up casually, brushing himself off. It seemed like this had happened before.
"Thanks, bro."
The child patted the dust from his pants and bowed his head.
"I gotta put the knife back before I get scolded. See ya later!"
Kike waved his arms wildly and dashed energetically toward the tent.
"......"
Left alone with the boy, Gael examined the mysterious youth anew with fresh eyes.
The more he looked, the more mismatched elements seemed to cluster in this boy.
A wandering mercenary who looked like a young noble heir. An imperial who spoke Ortonan. A swordsman with holy power.
Gael couldn't help but ask.
"Your healing skills seem better than the camp's medical priests. Why not become a priest?"
Bart stared at Gael inscrutably for a moment before countering.
"Your prose is better than the staff officers in camp. Why not become a scribe?"
He was referring to how Gael occasionally wrote propaganda pamphlets on behalf of the distracted staff officers amid the recent grim situation. He thought they were pretty good himself.
But still, to ask the continent's youngest swordmaster—eastern region's greatest swordsman—why he picked up a sword?
"...You read the pamphlets?"
"Yes. Fine writing. If the republicans' position were just a bit better, royalist soldiers might have defected in droves."
"......"
In other words, their situation was so dire that even good propaganda wouldn't prompt defections.
And to say that so bluntly in front of the general called the Republicans' Last Sword.
"That's an extremely pessimistic view. We don't know yet."
"There won't be any variables, General. Everyone knows it."
"But many who share the republicans' values haven't abandoned us yet. Even the Astros Mercenary Corps you belong to joined us under Count Millo's sponsorship."
"Count Millo is just playing his assigned role. Do you really think he won't slip away at the right moment?"
Come to think of it, Gael recalled the words the boy had told Kike earlier. Count Millo was with the merchant alliance.
A wry smile crossed Gael's face. He'd suspected as much deep down.
"I see. Well, thanks for the heads-up on his intentions. I'll keep it in mind."
The boy fell silent, studying Gael's face for a moment.
Then, slowly, he raised his arm and casually placed his hand on the swordmaster's shoulder!
"......!"
Gael was more flustered by the boy's boldness.
He let it happen because he was confident he could react to any sudden move.
It also felt strangely natural.
Soon, a brilliant beam of light burst from Bart's hand, enveloping Gael's body. Minor headaches and aches vanished in an instant, and his muscles and joints loosened refreshingly.
For Gael, who hadn't suffered injuries since becoming an aura user, it was a novel sensation.
'Is holy power supposed to feel like this?'
Only then did Gael realize his condition had been poor lately.
Racing across the front lines by day and shouldering some of the staff's workload by night had worn him down to the point where even a swordmaster's stamina couldn't keep up.
Bart withdrew his hand, turned away, and said.
"You're mistaking overwork born of excessive pressure for passion for the republic, forcing your aura to compensate, but it can't reach everywhere."
"...What?"
Gael blinked in confusion.
Kike was right about one thing. He couldn't grasp what this boy meant.
Bart replied coldly, without turning back.
"I'm saying you're needlessly stubborn."
"......"
Gael was speechless at the sudden personal attack.
Yet from the boy who had turned away, he felt an undeniable wave of sincerity.
* * *
Pa-pa-pa-pap!
Arrows rained down from all sides. Despairing screams echoed here and there.
The enemy, holding the high ground, unleashed a relentless barrage, leaving their own archers too busy hiding behind cover to return fire.
"They said they were withdrawing for supplies!"
Republican veteran general Gaspar screamed like a man possessed.
Their few soldiers were falling pointlessly.
Scouts had reported the enemy's main force preparing to withdraw for supplies, so despite the terrain disadvantage, he'd led most of the right wing forward in high spirits. That was the fatal mistake.
If they'd held and met the enemy at Castiya Fortress nearby, they wouldn't have suffered such losses.
But Count Castiya had no intention of yielding the fortress to republican remnants. He'd sealed the passes and begun watching them warily.
In the end, the republicans had to set up camp in a vast open plain without proper cover and face endless royalist assaults.
Worn out by the protracted war of attrition, their desperate breakthrough to find an escape from the crumbling lines was inevitable.
"General Gaspar!"
A knight using a small cart for cover dashed toward the old general during a brief lull in the arrow storm.
"We can't hold like this! We need to retreat now!"
"To where? Where do you suggest we retreat?"
The knight snapped to attention and looked south across the plain.
The enemy main force, thought to be withdrawing, had appeared behind them. The right wing was completely cut off from the central camp.
Boom-boom-boom. With drumbeats, the elated royalist cavalry charged toward them.
Gaspar's unit had leaped onto the enemy's anvil and been hammered.
The old general gritted his teeth.
"We break through the thinner enemy lines on the hill straight ahead, or we're annihilated!"
"But..."
"Hold just a bit longer! Push one step closer to the high ground! He'll come with reinforcements soon!"
The knight's wavering eyes focused at the old general's words. He nodded grimly and ran back to rally the archers.
Gael Bertrand.
The reason the republicans held their camp in Andresi Plain for so long despite disadvantages was one: the existence of their Last Sword.
He always rushed to the front's weakest point, his presence alone a powerful deterrent against the enemy.
And sure enough.
Moments later, as the enemy cavalry charged steadily toward them, a stir rippled through their rear—just before clashing with Gaspar's right wing.
Flash!
From afar, a long blue aura blade gleamed, rippling like waves.
"...General Gael!"
The enemy cavalry slowed noticeably. Unsure whether to charge the isolated republicans or turn to face the swordmaster, they hesitated.
In that gap, the searing blue sword blade began carving through the cavalry from behind. It slashed so swiftly no screams escaped.
Neigh!
Amid the rearing horses, the swordmaster galloped straight through, cleaving foes left and right in single strokes, bisecting the cavalry column.
Finally, the lead knight's chest split horizontally, and a middle-aged knight with a dignified air arrived before Gaspar.
The East's greatest swordsman.
A monster who had crossed the cavalry mid-formation without a single ragged breath.
"General Gaspar."
To the old general, relieved at escaping annihilation, Gael spoke matter-of-factly.
"The scout who brought the enemy withdrawal intel was a Castiya spy. I just executed him and am coming from reorganizing the central camp."
"Count Castiya, that bastard..."
Gaspar's eyes bulged red.
He should have suspected when the domain was locked down. Castiya had sided with the royalists.
He'd dangled meager supplies to placate them while feeding false intel to starve them on Andresi Plain!
Gael turned his horse, glancing at the trembling old general.
"Rally the troops. A detachment from central will handle the cavalry soon. We advance on the high ground in the meantime."
The silver sword Arjuna in his hand remained spotless, without a drop of blood.
The old general stared blankly at the blade, thinking.
Come to think of it, Gael had an uncanny knack for spotting spies, as if he could read minds.
"Hahaha!"
Then a booming laugh echoed from afar.
Spotting the swordmaster, the retreating enemy cavalry stirred again. It was the central detachment charging in Gael's wake.
The cavalry's front lines collapsed in chaos.
Through the gap burst a giant of a man swinging a bastard sword radiating clear battle spirit, gleefully pounding the cavalry. Most of the detachment was a small mercenary group newly hired by one of their patrons.
Astros Mercenary Corps leader Justin bellowed enthusiastically.
"Come at us all! This is off-contract work! Our sucker general won't haggle over per-head pay!"
"Sucker..."
The old general gawked up at Gael, who slyly averted his gaze.